A Novel Idea
by lizziecat
Summary: The sizzling romance novels penned by the mysterious H. J. LaGrange are all the rage at Hogwarts during Hermione's seventh year, much to Severus' annoyance. She continues her writing career while vexing Snape. Will anyone find her out? AU
1. Chapter 1

Severus scowled

AN: This idea came to me randomly, and I had to type it up. Please review and tell me if it's utter crap or not! Thanks!

And to all of my readers of Karaoke Conundrum, I promise that I will start work on that again soon. So sorry for my long absence!

And now, without further ado, to the story…

BRAND NEW AN: This is an update where all my careless mistakes are removed as my brand new very kind and wonderful beta, Angel, has been helping me out.

xoxoxoxox

Severus scowled. The female attendees of his very serious potions class were just about to snap his last fibre of nerve. He stalked to the huddle of fifth year Hufflepuff girls at the back of his classroom, about to find out just what it was that distracted them from completing their anti-inflammatory salve. _It better not be one of those blasted books again_, he growled mentally. He was sick of seeing those everywhere in the blasted school. It seemed like every girl in the student body had at least one copy of H. J. LaGrange's salacious novels in their possession.

H. J. LaGrange had taken the literary world by storm since last summer. Well, a certain portion of the literary world at least. Her sizzling and scandalous romance novels, five of them published so far, had sold thousands of copies even though they had only been out for a few months, and three of the books had been sitting at the top of _Witch Weekly_'s "Top Picks for Undercover Reading" list since their debut, a highly coveted position. The publisher of the books, an offshoot of the same firm that printed the _Quibbler_, received over a hundred pieces of fan mail addressed to LaGrange daily. However, all of these letters had to be responded to with a polite note informing disappointed readers that LaGrange wrote under a pseudonym and would not give out any personal details, including an address to which letters could be sent.

However, if the mysterious LaGrange was ever found out, Severus Snape vowed to make sure that she would no longer be able to pen a single word in her entire lifetime. Once he got to the back of the classroom, he stood over the girls, looming menacingly as they tried to look innocent.

"What, may I ask, is so amusing?" he drawled lazily, as if he had all the time in the world to watch them squirm.

"Pro-Professor, we were ju-just comparing notes on how to correctly chop the licorice root, Sir!" the girl stammered, cringing as her lie sounded unconvincing even to her own ears.

Severus rolled his eyes ever so slightly. "Is that so? Well then, Miss Andrews, I see no reason why you would object to letting me see your, ahem, notes that you're hiding behind your back there." He beckoned with his tapered fingers, palm outstretched. Abigail Andrews' glance darted around like a frightened rabbit before she realized that there was no other choice. With a sigh, she dropped the novel she was concealing into the professor's hand, mourning its loss. She wasn't even halfway through, and that had cost her all of this week's pocket money!

Severus held the novel by its corner, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger like it was some sort of dead thing with an unpleasant odor. He flicked through it disdainfully, glancing at the cover and remarking, "_The Cauldron of Affection_ by H. J. LaGrange. How…scholarly. Twenty-five points will be deducted from Hufflepuff as a reminder to pay attention in class, and anyone else caught bringing another piece of LaGrange trash within my presence will have detention for a month!" He walked back to his desk, tossing the novel into the rubbish bin, the busty, scantily clad witch and absurdly muscled wizard posing on the cover squealing indignantly.

"I would like you all to bring up a flask of your excuses for potions to my desk, clean up, and get out of my sight. Homework, due in two days, will consist of a thirty centimeter essay on the role of licorice root in anti-inflammatory salve, as well as a thirty centimeter essay detailing exactly what the dangers are when one doesn't pay attention in class," Severus snarled.

The students groaned, and more than one of them looked towards Abigail and her friends with thinly veiled resentment. That was a heavy workload even from Snape! As the students prepared to leave, Abigail cast a hopeful look towards the rubbish bin, thinking that she could sneakily snatch back her novel while the potions professor was occupied with collecting the samples of the students' work. Unfortunately, however, Severus caught her glance, assumed where her train of thought was leading, and casually fired an incendiary spell into the bin where the book disintegrated in a small fireball. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she scuttled out.

xoxoxoxox

Hermione Granger, now in her seventh year, sat at her customary table in the library, awaiting the fifth year Hufflepuff girl she always tutored on Wednesday evenings. She was madly scribbling words onto a legal pad with a muggle ballpoint pen while she waited. She used quills for her school assignments so as to satisfy her teachers, but when she was writing just for herself, she couldn't beat the smoothness and mess-free quality of a good old biro. Plus, muggle legal pads were so much handier than thick and unruly scrolls of parchment anyways. Hermione looked up as her student trudged toward her, obviously unhappy.

"What's wrong?" Hermione kindly asked Abigail Andrews as she took her seat. The younger girl sighed wistfully, resting her head in her hands.

"Professor Snape was being really mean in Potions today!" she wailed. "He yelled at me and took away my copy of _The Cauldron of Affection_! I just couldn't wait to see if Hugo would find Lana in time to tell her he loved her before she was married to that bastard Sven, so I was reading it under the table after I had basically finished my potion. Snape saw, snatched it from me, and blew it up in the dustbin! Now I'll never know what happened since I can't afford to buy another copy since mum won't give me any more pocket money 'til the end of the month!"

Hermione smiled internally, pleased that someone was so enthralled in her plot while trying to manage the outward appearance of innocent sympathy. She wondered what Abigail would do if she knew that she was sitting at the same table as the author herself. An idea popped into her head. Abigail really had been doing better lately in arithmancy, and Hermione really needed to finish her latest train of thought on paper before it completely drifted out of her mind.

"Abigail," she inquired, "do you have any questions about yesterday's lesson?" When the girl shook her head, Hermione smiled. "Well then, since you've been doing so well lately, I'll cut you a break today. As long as you have the chapter seven review done for me to check over by next Wednesday to make sure you're prepared for the test next Friday, I'll let you have today off. What's more," Hermione continued, smiling wider and fishing her personal copy of _The Cauldron of Affection_out of her cavernous schoolbag, "if you absolutely _must_ know what happens to Lana, I'll let you borrow my copy. I trust you'll be finished by next Wednesday?"

Abigail squealed with delight, taking the proffered novel and nodding rapidly. "Thank you so much Hermione! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She scampered off, clutching the precious tome to her chest. Hermione shook her head. She still couldn't believe her mad success. She had made close to half a million galleons from royalties from her five novels, and the oldest one had only been out for six months! Still-practical Hermione was very satisfied as she had begun this endeavor to secure funds for her living expenses as she pursued her further education. She had accomplished all that and more, and now she had so much money that she didn't know what to do with it!

For a little over two hours, Hermione sat in that same chair, filling up page after page of her trusty legal pad with the plotline of her next book. She was right in the middle of a particularly juicy sex scene when she paused to stretch her cramped fingers. What she wouldn't give for a laptop! That was her next project, after she finished this story. She would do some research and find a way to configure her laptop that currently remained back at her muggle home so that it would work around magic.

Pausing her train of technology-themed thoughts, she flicked back through what she had written. Even though her last five books were so successful, she still was very self-critical of her work. Ever the perfectionist, she got out a red ballpoint pen from her bag and set to work editing. After another hour hunched at that library table, she had nearly finished going over her work when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.

"Hermione, dear," Madame Pince said kindly, "it's nine o'clock and I'm about to close up the library." Irma Pince did not behave in a friendly manner towards students as a personal principle, preferring the company of her precious books, but she had a soft spot for Hermione Granger. Never in her entire career had she met a student with more respect for the sanctity of books, except perhaps for Severus Snape when he was a student.

Hermione looked up and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Madame. I seemed to have lost track of time."

Madame Pince smiled, an occurrence that would be unbelievable to the eyes of any other student. "You know that I would love to let you stay a little longer on most days, Hermione, but I have to admit that I'm a bit more eager than usual to close up shop here and retire tonight. I've just started H. J. LaGrange's new book, and I'm absolutely hooked…"

Hermione tried to swallow her shock as she nodded. "Of-of course! My fingers are aching as it is. I'd better call it a day and get some rest. Thanks, Madame!"

She gathered up her belongings and left the library with a bemused smile on her face. Even Irma Pince was reading her work? Wow… She had really accomplished a miracle. She was so lost in thought that she was not paying the teeniest bit of attention to where she was going, and with an _oomph_ she ran right into someone walking in the opposite direction. To her great consternation, the person fell backwards, and Hermione fell right on top of him, and she gasped with horror and embarrassment as she looked down into the sallow face of Severus Snape.

Hermione was paralyzed with shock for a few seconds as she stared into his coal-black eyes, but once her brain had kicked back in, she scrambled off of the potions master and started to stammer her apologies as she hurriedly picked up the contents of her bag, which had been dumped out when she fell.

"I'm so sorry Sir! I was completely out of it. I'm sorry Sir!" she wailed, near tears. Severus Snape, once he got over the shock of being underneath one of his most obnoxious students, fixed her with an icy stare. His gaze flickered away from her, however, when he noticed the books she was trying to quickly stuff back into her bag.

"Not you too, Miss Granger! Please tell me that you of all people are not reading that rubbish. I expected someone with your intelligence to know enough not to waste time on that drivel!"

Hermione was, of course, immediately offended, but then what he had said sunk into her brain. Had he actually given her a compliment? After six and a half years of trying to impress him in class, did he actually truly recognize her? She knew she should be insulted but instead felt rather gratified. She could look past his criticism of her work since she didn't expect him to appreciate the, ahem, subtle nuances of a Harlequin-esque romance. She smiled, happy that he had finally recognized her intellectual prowess.

"What on earth are you grinning at, you silly girl?" Severus' snarl snapped her out of her reverie. She jumped, reminded of his actual presence, as he gracefully ascended to a standing position, looking down disdainfully upon Hermione, who was still on the ground stowing her scattered possessions.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your clumsiness, Miss Granger, and I would suggest that in the future you would use that brain of yours to watch where you're going!" With that remark, Severus stalked off.

Hermione's satisfied feeling vanished. How dare he take points away? It's not like she banged into him on purpose; it was just an accident!

"Insufferable bastard," she muttered, regretting that Snape was now beyond hearing distance. His insulting words about her literary prowess returned to her mind, and instead of dismissing them as she did before, she let them infuriate her. "Insufferable, grumpy, miserable old bastard!"

With that out of her system, Hermione turned on her heel and stalked off to the Gryffindor common room. She would show him. She would find a way to take him down a peg or two, or rather, H. J. LaGrange would.

xoxoxoxox

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione flopped down wearily on her four-poster bed

AN: Thank you for all of your support! I wasn't expecting that much. I turned on my computer when I woke up, saw all the reviews, and was like, yup! Time for another chapter! By the way, I'm trying to Briticize (is that a word? Lol) it as much as I can, but if anyone's good at Britpicking, feel free to tell me other things I missed.

Ruby Red Sunshine: Wow, that's a coincidence! Well, when I hit writer's block (which I inevitably will sometime in this story) I definitely know who to email! But, just out of curiosity, why did you capitalize the first letter of every word in your review?

Lovelace's Amarantha: You wouldn't believe it, but I am actually a grammar nazi myself. I just was silly and uploaded this right after I wrote it because I was too excited to proof it. blushes I can't believe I did that! But rest assured, even though I hate proofreading my own stuff (though I do it to everyone else, willing or not), I have a wonderful beta, Angel, now who everyone should bow down to!!

Everyone Else: Thanks!!

NEW AN: Yes, another repost to fix any of my careless mistakes, wonderfully doctored by my kind beta Angel. 

xoxoxoxox

Hermione flopped down wearily onto her four-poster bed. It had been a whole day since her rather collisional encounter with Professor Snape, and she was still angry. Her anger lurked like a smouldering ember in the pit of her stomach all day, not flaring up until her own potions class, the last class she had attended that day. The minute she walked in and saw Snape's face, the ember flared up into a full grown blaze as if she had swallowed petrol.

As she stepped through the door, Hermione shot Snape a glare that would wither a lesser mortal such as Harry or Ron in seconds flat. Severus merely looked at her in a mildly inquisitive manner as if he knew nothing about why she was staring death-rays at him.

"Something wrong, Miss Granger?" he asked silkily.

Hermione took a deep breath. Now was not the time for her revenge. She had to wait until the perfect opportunity arose, and until then, she had to somehow manage to bite her tongue.

"No sir," she spat before taking her seat. As luck would have it, the only spot available was next to Neville Longbottom, and she was in no mood for patiently coaching the helpless boy today. She sighed though, resigning herself to her task.

As the class progressed, the potion they were brewing was progressing rather surprisingly well. Hermione even relaxed somewhat, daring to believe that Neville had acquired a meager dose of competency. She brewed her own potion with absolutely no problem, finishing in only fifteen minutes. Then she idly glanced over toward Neville just to make sure he was chugging along in the right direction.

Neville, biting his lips in concentration, carefully tipped in the ground beetles, holding his breath while he waited for the potion to change color. He had never gotten this far on a potion without help before. However, as the potion slowly morphed into a murky purple instead of the clear turquoise blue it was supposed to become, he slowly sunk his head into his hands. _One potion_, he thought. _All I wanted was for one bloody potion to turn out right!_

Hermione had looked over a second too late, right after he had tipped in the fateful beetles. She watched the erroneous color change with dismay, patting the distraught boy on the shoulder as she got her wand out to perform a vanishing spell on the ruined potion. Maybe he could start over and get it right. All she would have to do is tell him it was powdered lacewing flies instead of beetles! He had the rest right so far. Maybe there was still hope. However, that hope was dashed when, before the incantation could leave her lips, Professor Snape strolled soundlessly up behind her.

"What, may I ask, are you doing, Miss Granger? I thought you were aware that we are in Potions class, not Charms. Can you not even keep your schedule straight? And Longbottom, you idiot boy, can you ever get a potion right? You will receive a zero, and fifteen points will be taken from Gryffindor since, due to budget constraints, those ingredients you just carelessly wasted were purchased with my personal funds!"

Hermione couldn't restrain her curiosity. "You mean that the school's low on money sir?"

Severus shot her a scathing glance. "Well, Miss Granger, now that we all know your power of inference is compromised, _yes_. The school's coffers are a bit overspent, which means a cut of funds to my department."

He increased his volume to speak to the whole class, announcing, "This means that anyone caught wasting ingredients like Mr. Longbottom here will cost their house a substantial amount of points."

Hermione spent the remainder of class in a thoughtful silence. An idea was forming in her mind, an idea that would accomplish two purposes: It would be a direct blow to Snape's dignity, and it would also help the school at the same time. Now, sprawled out on her bed in the privacy of her room, her own room as she was made Head Girl, she began to flesh out her scheme. Once she had planned enough and was satisfied, she reached for a piece of parchment and some shimmering purple ink and began to pen a letter to the Headmaster.

xoxoxoxox

Professor Dumbledore reread the letter with an expression of bemusement on his wizened face, smiling at the garrulous purple text as he waited for Severus to enter his office. At the knock on the door, he good-naturedly called, "Come in!"

Severus entered, looking less than happy. "You asked to see me for something _important_, Albus?"

"Indeed I did, m'boy. You will be pleased to know that there has been a sizeable donation to the school, a donation consisting of a hundred thousand galleons! What's more, however, the donor specifically requested that three quarters of that donation go to the Potions department! Just think, Severus, you'll be able to get new cauldrons, ingredients, equipment… I'm sorry you've been a bit low in funds lately. With all the money towards the Order, we just didn't have enough to go around. But now your monetary problems are over!" Dumbledore smiled with glee.

Severus didn't look as impressed as Albus had hoped he would, though. "So who is this saintly benefactor? Probably Lucius or some other ex-Death Eater looking to kiss up to you again."

Albus shook his head. "Your cynicism is disappointing, Severus. This donation was instead given by an up and coming young author who felt like giving back to her community."

His coal-black eyes wide with apprehensive disbelief, he gasped, "No! Not LaGrange! Please, Albus, say it isn't LaGrange!"

Albus looked puzzled at Severus' outburst. "As a matter of fact, it is LaGrange. You don't enjoy her work? I find her writing style to be quite engaging. I borrowed Minerva's copy of _The Quest for the Wizard's Wand_, and I found it to be rather good. You should borrow it." He held out the book towards Severus, who looked at it as if it was a venomous snake about to inject deadly venom into his skin.

"With all due respect Headmaster, I really would rather not."

Albus sighed. "You're missing out, m'boy! Oh well. I expect you to make a speech during tomorrow's breakfast personally thanking LaGrange for her generosity."

"What good would that do? It's not like she's… Wait, Albus, you don't think she's a bloody student here, do you?" The thought of actually having had the creator of that tripe near him and in his classroom was almost too much to bear. He felt his skin crawl with disgust.

Albus smiled, amused at Severus' discomfort. "I have a hunch…but I trust that you will make that speech during breakfast like I asked you to, right?"

"Yes, Albus," Severus mumbled like a disgruntled teenager.

As he walked hurriedly out of the Headmaster's office, not even deeming Dumbledore's offer of a Hershey's kiss worthy of a response, he made a promise to himself. He vowed that by hook or by crook, he would get to the bottom of this. He would find out whom that bloody H. J. LaGrange was once and for all!


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Wow. Erm, well, it's been two years. What can I say? I am the worst fanfiction author ever. I read all the kind and lovely reviews that had been left during my two-and-a-half-year hiatus and felt even worse. But as I read back on this fic, I realized that it's really worth continuing. Better late than never, right? Perhaps? I really really do appreciate all your reviews, I really do! I was especially tickled by dmeb's confusion about the Hershey's kiss.

Anywho, without further ado, I bring you the long-awaited chapter three!

xoxoxoxox

Hermione's fingers twitched as if she held an invisible pen. The lovely new notebook her parents had sent for her birthday called a siren's song to her from her rucksack, but she forced herself to turn her attention to her scrambled eggs instead. Writing at the breakfast table would be a dead giveaway to a man as observant as Snape. She was already kicking herself for her too-obvious pen name. LaGrange? With her actual initials? Really sneaky, Granger. Top form.

Her brain tossed around her new idea as she ate. She had already penned a potion-brewer in _The Cauldron of Affection_, yes, but Hugo was far from a master at the craft. She needed to invent someone just enough like Snape, with all the wit and snark and expertise, and yet not close enough that he could prove he was being parodied. And with that, Septimus Scarpe was born. He would have long, lanky hair, though dark brown instead of black, sallow skin, and... Would the nose be too obvious? She was so tempted, but she feared it would be more of a lead-footed giveaway than she wanted. But maybe if she...

"Ahem."

The magically amplified ding of Dumbledore's spoon against his pumpkin juice goblet quieted the hall.

"I have wonderful news for you all. Undoubtedly, you have heard of our venerable institution's dry spell in funding lately, although I had hoped to keep that rather under wraps." At this, the Headmaster sent a half-amused, half-exasperated look toward Severus Snape, who kept his expression blank. Dumbledore shook his head, eyes twinkling a storm behind their glass half-circles.

"It is my great pleasure, however, to announce to you that our worries are over! I believe, as the main recipient of the generous gift bestowed upon us, Professor Snape would like to say a few words. Speak up, m'boy, speak up."

Snape's glare was so foul that Hermione sniffed her milk, sure it had been curdled. He rose with deliberate slowness, pushing back his chair so that it screeched against the flagstones. Hermione stifled a giggle, disguising it as a cringe. My, did he look cranky!

"I would like to extend my gratitude toward H. J. LaGrange for her donation of one hundred thousand galleons to Hogwarts, seventy-five percent of which will go toward my potions department. I will accept this as a much needed apology for the distraction Madame LaGrange's less-than-literary works have proven to be in my classroom and the personal inconvenience this has caused me. That is all."

Snape took his seat, looking infuriatingly smug, and Dumbledore rolled his eyes. Snape shrugged, affecting innocence.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed through a mouthful of toast, spraying crumbs on all and sundry. "One hun'erd 'ousand?"

"Chew, swallow, talk. That order is not optional, Ronald," Hermione grouched. She took a deep breath, and then another, and yet again, until she felt sufficiently oxygenated, but no less angry. The nerve of him! That man wouldn't recognize a nice gesture if it did the can-can wearing wellies and accompanied by a full brass band!

"Yes, mum." He stuck his tongue, plastered with bits of bread and jam, out at her, and she grimaced. "Seriously, though. Imagine someone sending that old git seventy-five thousand galleons! That LaGrange woman must be a bleedin' saint!"

"Honestly, Ron, it's not like it's going into Professor Snape's personal Gringotts vault. The Headmaster said it was going to the department. That means it will be used to buy new ingredients and new equipment. It's for the students' benefit. That means you too, in case you hadn't noticed." She wanted to nag at Ron for calling Snape a git like she usually would, but today, she just couldn't coax those words off of her tongue.

"But to potions? Why not to something worthwhile, like quidditch? The goal hoops are looking worse for wear, and the pitch needs re-seeding. It's more dirt than grass at this point. Remember, Harry, when you tried that Wronski last week and landed in that mud puddle that was as big as the lake?"

Harry, who couldn't be roused from his drowsy stupor ten minutes earlier when Hermione wanted to go over his transfiguration essay, perked up immediately.

"I nearly had that one, too! If McLaggen hadn't..."

Hermione cast her eyes skyward, still seething from Snape's snub. She couldn't spend one more moment in the company of these... these boys! She'd spend the forty-five minutes before transfiguration in the library working on her manuscript in peace. She opened her mouth to bid the duo goodbye, but they were far too engrossed in their discussion, acting out the last practice with bits of toast and silverware and looking for all the world like little children playing with toy airplanes.

"Honestly."

xoxoxoxox

Three weeks passed Hermione by, dominated by the scritching and scratching of pen against paper. Her classes were a blur to her. Her brain compartmentalized the information of each lecture as usual, and she took her normal detailed notes as if she was operating on autopilot, but her story was always buzzing for attention at the edge of her consciousness.

At last, she dotted the final full stop on the last sentence. She felt the happiness build in her, rising up from her toes to her grin like champagne bubbles. There was no better feeling in the world than completing a manuscript! After a quick word count charm, she smiled even wider—90,000 words in three weeks! That was definitely a new record for her.

She stretched languorously, flexing her hand to work out the writer's cramp, and flicked her wand at a stack of blank parchments and a specially charmed quill. Within five minutes, a fresh copy of her manuscript lay in a neat pile bound by a red silk ribbon, completed in loose, bland handwriting quite dissimilar to her cramped scrawl. Now to owl it to her editor, make the few suggested revisions, and play the waiting game.

She straightened herself up in preparation for the trek to the owlery. She looked a hot mess, but it was ten in the morning on a Sunday. She highly doubted she would run into much of anyone. Her manuscript got packaged in a large manilla envelope and shoved unceremoniously to the bottom of her bag, and she placed a few textbooks and some class notes on top of it. Constant vigilance, indeed. She chuckled to herself as she traipsed down the stairs and out the portrait hole, and she barely felt each footfall on the stone floor, she was so bubbly with her achievement.

Not even passing by the dour potions professor could tamp down her enthusiasm.

"Good morning, Professor Snape!"

Severus took one look at Hermione's chirpy, sunny face and darkened his glower to compensate. Well, for goodness sakes, that much cheer before noon on a weekend was nothing short of obscene!

"Miss Granger."

There. That was as polite as he could manage, and more than the chit deserved at that. He nodded curtly and swept past, but not quickly enough for the heavy dark smudges beneath his eyes to escape Hermione's notice.

His drawn face, more pinched-looking than normal, lingered in her mind's eye, and she felt a prickle of guilt slightly spoil her triumphant feeling. She doubted he had known the luxury of a decent night's sleep for a while, from the looks of it.

She shrugged off the feeling. It wasn't as if she was doing something awful to him. She was just getting her own back for all the times she had born the brunt of his temper in class for doing her best. Plus, how could she get his so-called gratitude for her gift out of her head? It's not as if his aggravation wasn't expected—she knew it was part of her objective for the gift in the first place—but it still peeved her.

She pirouetted around a few particularly large glops of owl excrement after reaching the owlery at last, and she bestowed a kiss upon the precious bundle of parchments before casting a weight-reducing charm and tying it to the sturdiest, hardiest-looking owl she could see.

xoxoxoxox

Two weeks later, H. J. LaGrange's new hit release, _Bottled Fame_, was flying from the shelves. Xenophilius Lovegood was positively giddy in his last letter to her, calling her novels "the best publishing decision since the Quibbler!"

And Snape... Snape was seeing red.

"Have you seen this tripe? This codswallop that this idiot woman is trying to peddle as reading material? This hippogriff dung held together by bookbinder's glue?"

"My goodness, Severus," Albus exclaimed, startled, as Severus slapped the offending novel upon his desk. Fawkes, who had been dozing, squawked and nearly fell off his perch at the noise.

"This is maligning my reputation, Headmaster, and I won't stand for it!"

"Severus, dear boy, I've read that one myself, and I must say, LaGrange has certainly outdone herself. But where in the novel can you prove that she is talking about you? There are similarities, I won't deny that, but until you can find hard evidence of the truth of your accusation, I'm afraid that there is little you or I or anyone else can do."

"You—" Severus spluttered, "You don't actually expect me to read the drivel, do you? I could barely get through chapter one without retching!"

"How else will you know its contents?" Dumbledore asked innocently. "Plus, it might be better than you expected. It might surprise you."

"Not bloody likely," Snape snapped, and he snatched his copy of _Bottled Fame_ before storming out and slamming the door behind him.

Dumbledore sucked a Jolly Rancher thoughtfully for a moment, scratching his flustered phoenix on the head, before he tossed some floo powder into his fireplace.

"Miss Granger, I would like a word."


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thank you ALL for your wondrous reviews. They literally brought tears to my eyes this morning. I had been a bit down about writing these last few months as this year was the first year in three that I failed at National Novel Writing Month, and I had just about had myself convinced that my writing skills were nonexistent. Thank you, each and every one of you, for restoring my faith in myself. :)

xoxoxoxox

Professor Flitwick was absolutely flummoxed. He rested his gnarled little hands on his hips and, with a wordless _Wingardium Leviosa,_ he floated up to inspect the charred remains what had so recently been his handiwork.

"What kind of student would attack a Christmas tree?" he exclaimed under his breath. "A Christmas tree, for Merlin's sake!"

_What kind of student indeed,_ Severus thought as he pocketed his wand and stalked silently away. _ Bah humbug_. He had given into temptation and taken out his rage on the defenseless decoration, and he refused to feel a smidgen of guilt. He wasn't made of stone after all, and he wouldn't abide this "LaGrange" chit much longer. If only Albus would reveal her identity. He knew. Oh, there was no doubt that the infuriating old man knew perfectly well the identity of the mysterious author in their midst, who sat several times a week in his own classroom, the impudent thing.

LaGrange's new release the past week of the second installment of what he found out to be a trilogy had caused something inside him to snap. The titles were unmistakeable: _Bottled Fame, Brewed Fortune_, and the much-anticipated-by-every-witch-with-more-X-chromosomes-than-brains _Stoppered Death_. He'd never be able to properly strike fear into the heart of first years again! This was deliberate mockery at its worst. She was shoving it in his face with no shame at all.

And he'd even resorted to reading the thrice damned things at that. Desperate times indeed. Septimus Scarpe acted like he was the lovechild between Severus and Gilderoy Lockhart, and if that wasn't enough to bring the bile to the back of his throat, he didn't know what was. Sure, Septimus had a commendable knowledge of the potions he was portrayed making—at least LaGrange hadn't sought to tarnish his professional reputation in his field—and the character did share some of his more iconic physical traits, such as the just-past-the-shoulder hair and the prominent nose, but the author had tweaked it just enough so that the resemblances could be defended as merely circumstantial. Septimus Scarpe's hair was chestnut brown, not shoe polish black, and the character had brown eyes to match, not the flat black disks that glittered beneath the potion master's eyebrows. LaGrange also had Septimus in the most ridiculous muggle get-ups, leather pants and all. Severus was never more thankful for his frock coats and teaching robes as when he read about that.

And it didn't help, of course, that Septimus acted like a bloody ponce, prancing around almost like the main character in that hideous American muggle film Albus had insisted on taking the staff to see, Indiana Jim or some such nonsense. Septimus was always swooping in to save the day, brewing a potion on the edge of a cliff, adding ingredients with his teeth as he clutched his wand in one hand and a knife in the other, all for the sake of some simpering girl. LaGrange hadn't bothered fleshing out the female's character that much as, after all, the targeted audience was much more interested in Septimus.

And yet, Severus couldn't shake the feeling that the author was trying to hide herself by making the female lead the nearly-anonymous curvaceous brunette, as if she was afraid she'd write too much of herself into the character and give up the game.

"Gah!" Severus grunted as he slammed his hand against the corridor's stone wall, causing a Hufflepuff second year to faint in shock. He needed a plan of action, something to unsettle LaGrange enough to show some sign that would reveal herself.

And, as he arrived at his quarters and sunk into his favorite leather armchair, he knew just the thing.

xoxoxoxox

Hermione stumbled down to breakfast the next morning, bleary-eyed and blinking. She had already snapped enough at her two companions that Harry and Ron were giving her a wide berth. Flickering the most minute of glances toward the professors' table, she went limp with relief. Professor Snape's chair was empty.

She whipped out her parchment and pen, grumbled "Homework!" to the boys, and scribbled like a fiend. Having been up until an hour before dawn working on this draft, she wanted to push through and get it finished as soon as possible. She had never been able to write like this before the Septimus Scarpe trilogy. She had been an efficient producer of pages, that was for sure, enough to keep Mr. Lovegood worshiping the ground she walked on, but this time, the storyline flowed out of her mind faster than she could write it down. She chalked it up to the fact that she had a real, living inspiration for the main character, one she interacted with several times a week. Surely that had to be what was making the writing easier.

But... That didn't explain the dream she had last night, the dream where Septimus Scarpe had rescued her, Hermione Granger, instead of the ambiguous Amy Carlyle. Except, oddly enough, Septimus hadn't had the features she had given him. Oh, he had the leather pants and all, Hermione remembered with a shiver, but it was black hair that dusted the collar of his shirt, and black eyes in which she couldn't help but lose herself.

No! She couldn't let herself read too much into this. It was probably just her subconscious weaving together her thoughts about the book and her stress about Professor Snape catching on. She had to stay focused. She'd promised Lovegood this draft by New Year's.

It was only the baleful call of "C'mon, 'Mione, we can't be late for potions," that roused her from her writing. How could she have forgotten double potions this morning? Oh well, she thought to herself, Professor Snape wasn't the only one that could pull off being sneaky around here. Plus, it wasn't even like this was the first potions class since her trilogy began. _It's the first since you started dreaming of him,_ her traitorous subconscious informed in a Snape-like sneer, and she pushed that voice to the back of her head with a firm mental _Sod off!_

xoxoxoxox

The braver students of the class attempted to converse in hushed tones as the students awaited their professor's arrival. The Slytherins lounged, looking aristocratically bored, and Hermione made a game out of counting the number of times they casually inspected already clean nails or preened smoothly gelled hair. The Gryffindors fidgeted, and she slapped Ron's hand when he reached to chuck a flobberworm at Harry. She was so focused on telling off the unapologetic Weasley that she completely missed the hush that blanketed the classroom, and she mistook Ron's blanching as her cue of a job well done.

"Miss Granger, I would appreciate it if you would leave your foolish drama in the corridor when you come to class. Five points from Gryffindor for unnecessary disruption."

Hermione huffed and turned around, about to toss a sullen "Sorry, Sir," his way, when her breath decided that it would give up forming coherent words and take up gymnastics in her vocal cords instead. All the muscles in her face froze, and the only thing that masked her choked gasp from detection was the fact that roughly half of the room's occupants, the half in skirts, was simultaneously making the exact same noise that she was.

Severus Snape stood leaning against the door frame in dragon-hide boots, leather pants, a white collared shirt, and a shadow of overnight stubble. In other words, the dream man that nearly every straight female of the wizarding world (and quite a few of the men, Hermione had been amused to hear) longed for had entered the potions classroom like nothing was amiss.

He strode up the center aisle between the desks, coming to a stop in front of his customary podium and work table in the front of the room.

"Today, we will begin our unit on potions that affect the physiological responses of the body..."

Physiological responses were occurring up a storm in the classroom just then, and without the aid of potions at that. Hermione's breath hitched, and she couldn't stop examining her Professor. He had gotten every little detail right, from the fact that Septimus never buttoned the first two buttons on his shirt to the exact color of the pants and boots to... well, everything except Septimus' ponytail.

It wasn't until Hermione's close scrutiny rewarded her with the perception that Snape's probing glance fell upon every female member of the class in turn that the realization of what he was doing pushed through the haze of hormones in her mind. That crafty bastard! She steeled her expression into one of polite academic interest seasoned with the amount of surprise in the eyes of the more reserved members of the class, and she met his gaze evenly when he moved to her. He didn't dare use legilimency on a student in the classroom, not with so many witnesses, and he moved on. Hermione noticed that she had forgotten to breathe for the last minute or so, and she forced herself to calm down and tune back in to his lecture.

"... and I am positively sick of seeing poor potion-brewing standards in this classroom. Do you dunderheads understand the effects that even the tip of a hair could cause lest it be allowed to dangle in a volatile potion?"

And with that admonishment, he pulled out a braided leather cord from pocket—no, _the _braided leather cord—and proceeded to tie his hair back into a sleek low tail at the base of his neck. Hermione needn't have worried about missing the lecture, as the lesson had to be abruptly stopped as Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, and, surprisingly enough, Pansy Parkinson, had all managed to swoon into their cauldrons.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Sorry about the delay. Traveling, canceled flight, holidays, all that jazz. Hope everyone had a great holiday, and I figured I'd start the new year off right with a new chapter. :)

xoxoxoxox

Severus Snape pushed his feet against the floor, leaning his chair back so that he teetered on just two legs. That probably wasn't the wisest thing to do after the half of his firewhiskey bottle had mysteriously vanished, but Severus had more pressing things on his mind than his own personal safety.

"Damn," he muttered. "Just... damn."

Growing up, he had heard people whisper about him, saying things like "Pity he'll never be a looker, but how smart he is!" or "Tsk tsk, with that nose... At least his brains will make up for it." A quiet only child has a way of disappearing in a room full of adults. To the grownups, they see a child in the corner, playing with his My First Potions Set in his own little world. What none of them knew was that Severus didn't need to focus fully to brew the simplistic potions, not even at eight or nine. He heard his mother and father gossip about his achievements in his schooling, and that swelled his pride, but he shrugged off the disparaging remarks. What did a small child care about how he looked? He thought like every prepubescent boy: that girls were foreign, icky creatures anyway. If they didn't want anything to do with him, more the better.

By the time he got his Hogwarts letter and reached puberty, his self-image was pretty much set in stone, like the farmers' dry stone walls near Snape Manor in the English countryside. Each stone was perfectly fitted with its neighbors with no mortar necessary, each murmured remark, each glance in the mirror, all carefully arranged to form a barrier. If he already knew he was ugly, it didn't matter if anyone said it to his face or behind his back. It wouldn't bite like hearing an awful truth for the first time. It would just be another stone chiseled and set. As he matured, he crafted his image, growing his hair and leaving it intentionally greasy and hiding himself in yards of fabric, using his ugliness as a tool.

And Lily... Severus kneaded his forehead hard with his knuckles. He'd need the other half of that bottle and then some before he'd be in any shape to think about her. Come to think of it, polishing off that bottle didn't seem like a bad idea.

As he reached toward the vessel labeled with Ogden's grizzled face and knocked back another sip directly from the bottle's neck, he played back the day's events in his mind. Gaping, falling into cauldrons, tripping over stairs—all this and more done by countless teenaged girls at his mere presence. This is what they did for men like Black and Potter, not for Snivellus Snape. He had assumed that his costume would shatter whatever rosy picture those books put in their heads, that he would know the creator from the strongest look of revulsion. Instead, Severus Snape sat in his study getting drunk and coming to terms with the first time in his life that people actually thought him attractive.

He didn't even notice as a few stones started loosening from the wall.

xoxoxoxox

Hermione was spending the evening a bit more pleasantly, and not just because it was the evening before most of the castle's occupants left for winter break. In fact, she was so delighted that the scratching of an owl's talons on her window sent her into a victory twirl around the room and then to open the panes of glass. The bird shot her a resentful look as it struggled inside, shaking the snow from its feathers and shivering pathetically.

"Oh, you poor dear," Hermione crooned, but her urge to care for the owl did not surpass the frenzy with which her fingers unbound its burden, all wrapped in paper like an early Christmas present. She shot a warming charm at it with haste, placed a piece of her sandwich in front of it, and flounced onto her bed to turn her attention to her parcel. Her hands trembled as she undid the string. No matter what her practical side said about her having done this a thousand times, unwrapping the final proof copy before publishing was still an absolute thrill.

The drab brown paper slid back to reveal a vibrant cover emblazoned with the title, _Stoppered Death_, and a sultry background of misty waters and a boat that carried a delicious morsel of a potions master kneeling over a half-conscious heroine, a vial in his hand tipped toward her lips. Xeno's marketing department had really outdone themselves this time. And the model they hired to portray Snape... err, Septimus, was nearly spot on. It had been the same model for the previous two books, of course, but after seeing the man himself in the Septimus getup, Hermione just couldn't look at the model's picture the same way again.

Hermione's stomach twisted, wringing itself like a dishtowel. She tingled in places she'd rather not mention, and a rather salacious part of her brought to her full attention that swapping places with the girl in the boat wouldn't be too bad of a situation to be in. She hadn't expected this reaction. These books were revenge and a helping hand for her beloved school, nothing more. But she couldn't help remembering Snape leaning rakishly against his worktable in the outfit she herself had dreamed up, reaching back to pull his hair away from his cheekbones, head angled slightly downward but eyes glancing up to scan the class...

"Damn," she muttered. "Just... damn."

A knock on the door jolted her back into reality, and she scrambled to slide the brown paper over the precious tome. However, when she got up, her weight shifting off of the mattress moved the covers just enough to nudge the paper ever so slightly.

"'Mione!" a familiar voice rang out. "Can I talk to you?"

"I'm coming!" Hermione lurched toward the door. _Somebody better be on fire in the common room to warrant this interruption,_ she thought. _Scratch that—the whole bloody tower better be on fire._

A tornado of red hair and freckles spilled into the room.

"Hey Hermione, could I talk to you for a sec? It's just that the sixth year career counseling sessions with Professor McGonagal are coming up next week, and I'm pretty nervous, so I wanted to bounce my ideas off of you first so that I don't sound like a complete berk of myself then?" Ginny paused for breath. "Wait, is that a LaGrange book on your bed? I didn't think you of all people would be into those. Which one is it?"

Hermione noticed a moment too late that the strip of cover revealed was the bit at the bottom emblazoned with her pseudonym and groaned internally. Also, though, her wow-I'm-an-idiot thoughts were joined by a stab of resentment. Why should people assume that she wouldn't like LaGrange novels? Just because she was studious didn't mean she was an asexual shut-in!

"Ginny, wait!" It just wasn't Hermione's night. While she had been standing there in a huff, Ginny had dashed to pluck the book off of the scarlet bedspread, shaking off the paper.

"_Stoppered Death_..." the Weasley girl muttered. "But... Wait a moment, this one isn't even supposed to be released until the middle of January! That's what the ad in the Prophet said at least. Merlin's scrawny arse, 'Mione, do you have some sort of secret connection with them? I knew you were into books, but this is unbelievable!" A second later, a new comprehension dawned in Ginny's eyes. "This... This is a proof copy. I can tell by the way the corner's been cut off. Mum writes cookbooks, and the publishers always dock the corners of the proofs they send her so that they don't find their way onto store shelves early."

"Well, um, that is..." Hermione drew a blank. Smartest witch of the century, and she couldn't even fib properly. Ginny's eyes grew as large as a house elf's.

"No way. No bloody way. LaGrange? H. J. LaGrange? How could we have missed it? It's you!"

Hermione whipped out her wand and hit the door with a quick locking charm. It was damage control time.

"I hope you understand, Ginny, but I'm going to have to swear you to secrecy with a Wizard's Oath before I let you leave. My career hangs in the balance here."

"Hermione, I'm one of your best friends. I wouldn't run to Rita Skeeter and betray you. But if it'll help you feel better, I'll take your Oath, only if you promise to tell me all about how this started after."

"Deal."

Hermione made short work of the Oath. She couldn't perform a full and proper one because of the lack of a witness, but she cast a modified version of what she had used in fifth year. If Ginny broke her word, she'd only wish she was in Marietta Edgecombe's place. Afterward, she sat Ginny in a chair and gave her the short version of the when's, where's, and why's.

"Hermione, you brilliant, brilliant cow. That's bloody genius. Your writing is amazing. It just sucks me into the storyline. And I will forever be worshiping at your feet for what you invented for Snape, especially after today! Phwoar!"

"Professor Snape," Hermione corrected automatically, and then she burst into giggles... rather high-pitched, girly giggles. Now where did those come from? Hermione didn't laugh like an airhead normally. And, to her horror, she felt a blush warm her cheeks.

"You fancy him. This is more than just payback. I can tell—it's written all over your face." All of a sudden, Ginny looked a lot more wise and knowing than her sixteen years' experience. "Don't bother denying it. Let's pretend you've made your excuses and spluttered out a rebuttal and move on. What are you going to do about it?"

"Do about it?" Hermione was so incredulous that she forgot to declare innocence. "I'm a student. He's a teacher."

"You're a student for half a school year longer. And then graduation comes and goes, and you're an adult in every sense of the word. He's perfect for you, 'Mione. He's mature and smart and witty, not some fumbling teenager."

"So I'm just supposed to forget that he's twenty years older than I am? He must be, what, 38? He's old enough to be my father! And the fact that once I've graduated, he probably will be glad to see the back of me—he hates me, if you'll recall."

"And when you're a witch or wizard, why does it matter? Magic means a longer life. Just look at Dumbledore—in muggle society, he have passed decades ago. When you're over a hundred, a twenty year difference seems like small potatoes, I'd think." Ginny didn't bother even addressing Hermione's second argument.

Hermione had the wild look of a cornered small animal about to dart for cover, so Ginny backed off a bit, saying, "Look, I'm not trying to get you to agree, but just think about it, alright? Oh, and I have an idea. It's about to be the Christmas hols, right? Send him a Christmas pressie from Madame LaGrange. That'll get under his skin for sure!" Ginny dissolved in slightly diabolical laughter.

_You know,_ Hermione thought, _that might not be such a bad idea..._


	6. Chapter 6

AN: This is a shorter-than-normal chapter as I've been having a rough time lately. I won't bore you with the details, but I haven't been in emotional tip top shape for a while. Nonetheless, I realized that it had been a while since I had posted, and all the reviews for the last chapter were so absolutely lovely that I had to manage at least this much for you all. You all are absolutely lovely!

PS: I guess I have been a little hard on Harry and Ron, so I let them catch a break here. :)

xoxoxoxox

"Crooks, I gave you that for you to play with, not for you to use to terrorize me!"

The half-kneazle shot his mistress a crystal clear don't-bother-me-while-I-do-mah-thang look and continued to leap wildly and toss the crumpled-up parchment in the air. _Honestly,_ she thought,_ that cat has more attitude than an American pop princess sometimes. Ah well, at least someone gets some enjoyment out of my potions essay's first draft. _She dotted the final i's and crossed the final t's of the final copy of the paper on Engorgement Elixir and couldn't help but snicker. If she could only see his face when he read chapter twelve of the latest installment... He'd never be able to assign assignments on or even look at an Engorgement Elixir the same way again!

That reminded her. She glanced over at the still-opened box that was her Christmas gift to Snape. She still didn't know if this whole idea was anything more than, oh, completely round the bend and down the road to Looney Land, but Ginny's pep talk—not to mention her continuing nagging—had convinced Hermione to go through with it. She reached into the box and fingered the cool metal of the pendant.

She had gone back and forth with herself, mentally debating having Septimus wear the pendant in the novels, but she had been unable to think of any other suitable gift for him to receive from his lady love at the end of _Bottled Fame. _Ironically enough, she had run into the same dilemma of what to get the real life man as a present, and she figured that the same solution would do the trick again, with the added bonus of creating another aggravating similarity for the stubborn man.

It was a difficult feat to pull off as, accomplished witch as she was, she wasn't experienced enough magically manipulating metal to accomplish such a delicate task. She had written to Xenophilius Lovegood about her need, and he hadn't hesitated a single moment to bend over backwards for his favorite cash cow and rush off to a Diagon Alley's most experienced wizarding metal-smith with the description from her book the very same day. The craftsman lived up to expectations, and the slim titanium phial was not only etched with the most intricate Celtic knotwork but also charmed on the inside to be completely inert and impervious to any chemical. It was a thoughtful present, enabling him to keep a dose of a life-saving potion close at hand in case of an emergency, and she had instructed that the chain for it to be made long enough so that he could tuck it hidden beneath his shirt.

Okay, maybe thinking about the expanse of skin that lay beneath Severus Snape's shirt was not the wisest topic for Hermione's thoughts to introduce, she realized too late as her mind drifted off in the realms of imagination. The polished titanium would gleam against his pale skin, and she bet it would rest upon some rather well-defined pectorals. Hermione knew he was no bodybuilder, but from the way he carried himself, her portrayal of Snape's alter-ego's lean muscle tone couldn't be that far off. Oh, and it would look especially nice with the ponytail that Snape had decided to instigate on a normal basis—ostensibly for potions safety and general handiness. And add the mental image of him whipping the necklace out to heroically save someone, and Hermione was past the point of no return.

A knock at the door snapped her back to reality, and she jumped up to answer, whacking her knee on the table's edge. Even the pain couldn't stop the blush at Ginny's knowing look. For all the buzz about Hermione being the "smartest witch of her age," there was no hope that she'd ever match Ginny for sheer perceptiveness. The redhead glanced at the package and knew immediately that Hermione had followed her suggestion.

"Did I interrupt anything? I could come back later," the Weasley offered with syrupy politeness and entirely too much eyelash fluttering for Hermione's comfort.

"Seriously though, 'Mione, I had something to talk to you about."

Hermione gestured her guest toward the room's squashy armchair, and she plopped down on her bed.

"I'm all ears."

"I understand that you've been really busy this year, what with your writing and your N.E.W.T. revisions. I don't know how you do it all, to be honest. You're like a machine! But don't you think you've been a bit hard on Harry and Ron?"

Hermione prickled defensively for a moment, and then her shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I guess you're right. I have been a bit snappish lately."

"But there's another thing too," Ginny continued, leaning in and lowering her voice even though they were alone. "I think Ron might really need some extra support right now."

"Now Ginny, I've told you before. I know Ron is a sweet boy, but I'm only ever going to love him as a friend!"

"No, no, you daft cow. I know you're hot for teacher now." She easily ignored Hermione's flush and stammer. "I mean, well, I walked in on him reading one of your Septimus books the other day, and I mentioned how much I thought Septimus was dreamy, just to squick him out. Instead, he went a bit funny and blushed one of those blushes only a ginger can do where the skin matches the hair. I think he might be having a bit of... an identity crisis, if you follow."

Hermione nodded. It couldn't be easy for Ron, questioning his sexuality in a dormitory full of boys that might turn on him if they caught an inkling. She didn't even know how Harry would react. She was 99 percent sure that he'd be accepting, but there was a niggling worry in the back of her mind nonetheless. Argh, that was just what she needed now, one of her best male friends mooning after Severus's doppelganger when she herself couldn't even sort out her own feelings. But he was her best friend, so she'd do what she could to be there for him. Her thoughts were interrupted by a noise from her desk.

"Crooks! Get down from there!" Her part-kneazle had seemingly abandoned his toy and moved on to greater horizons, thinking to attack the present box. Hermione got up to shoo him away, and then she moved toward the door.

"Alright, Ginny, I'll make more of an effort to spend some time with them. And I'll try to make Ron feel more supported as well."

"Don't let on that I told you that! He'd skin me alive!"

"I'm no Slytherin, but I can keep a secret, you know." Hermione smiled. "I'll go see if they're in the common room now. I guess I didn't realize until now how much I've missed the daft boys over these past months."

"And when you're done, don't forget to post the package!"

"Yes, yes, I will..." Hermione quickly sealed up the box as she chatted, covering it with shiny forest green paper and a tasteful black ribbon with a wave of her wand, all ready to send.

And the two girls left, neither bothering to notice that the orange feline's paper plaything was nowhere to be seen. If they had looked, they would have been a bit alarmed at the strangely human smirk adorning the cat's face, the unmistakeable evidence of being decidedly Up To Something.


	7. Author's Note

Hey guys, I just wanted to offer an explanation as to why this story is on an indefinite hiatus. I appreciate the positive reviews, and I apologize for not updating recently—when I restarted this story a few months ago, I fully intended to update at least a few times a month. However, life has a funny way of turning plans upside down.

My best friend for over a decade is a very very intelligent guy academically, but practically he can be damn stupid. He decided that it was a good idea to climb on the trunk of a friend's car, and the driver of said car was unaware and decided to take off driving and make a sharp turn, throwing my best friend off the car. He was rushed to the emergency room with a crapton of bleeding on his brain, and he was in critical condition for about seven hours. Worst waiting room wait ever. They ended up having to take a chunk out of his skull to get the intercranial pressure down.

He's in rehab for traumatic brain injury to the areas that control speech, critical thinking, and emotional control. He freaks out and won't do his rehab if I don't visit him each day and spend time with him during and outside of his therapy. Long and the short of it that this is where most of my spare time is going to, and when I'm not there, I'm emotionally exhausted and can barely get through my homework. Not too conducive to writing.

Sorry I got all detail-y there, but I just felt like I owed you guys an explanation of what's been going down.

PS: Hope that's a good enough reason, Lookattherainbow. Sorry you disapprove, but my life is a little "ridiculous" right now. (Passive aggressive, hold the passive.)


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